Weeds
by Ukaisha
Summary: While suspended from school over a Bar Mitzvah, a fistfight, and a misunderstanding, Kyle confides in Kenny his fears of growing up. (Kyle and Kenny friendship fic; Oneshot. ConCrit please.)


A/N: First forray into Teen! Park, although you might consider this more the tweens. Kyle has always had a temper that was bound to get him in trouble one of these days.

This is a friendship fic, although if you choose to see slash in it, hell; go for it.

I'm still experimenting with my characterization of Kenny, who holds the distinction of being a main character that cannot be ignored, while being someone we honestly don't know that much about. Fanon dictates much of his personality and he's an interesting subject to piece together.

Since I'm still getting back into writing after a very long hiatus, and I'm writing with new characters, I'd really love critical feedback for this story. If you turn away three paragraphs in and don't finish it, I'd love to know why. Everything counts. I will always reply to thoughtful reviews :3

A fair warning: this story contains a significant amount of foul language. This story was published under "South Park," right?

Update, 4/30/13: corrected a few glaring errors I somehow missed after my 900th edit but caught on the 901st.  
I'd also like to personally thank anonymous reviewer 24601, since I can't privately message them, for one of the most extremely thoughtful reviews I've had in a very long time :3 If I get no further reviews on this story than that one, I will be content.  
If you ever decide to stop being anonymous, I implore you to drop me a PM or an e-mail :3 I don't bite.

* * *

_Weeds_

Sheila Broflovski managed to nudge open the door despite her arms being heavily laden with the fruits of her shopping trip, and she rushed into the house to unburden herself. She had taken the week off work to allow herself more time to prepare for the big day, and she had accomplished a lot; the majority of her list had been crossed off and all that remained were sparse trivialities that could be picked up along the way. Releasing a triumphant sigh and putting her hands to her hips, she scanned the bags and packages and other wrapped goods that littered her kitchen floor and table, wondering where to start. It was going to be a very busy day, and with Kyle and Ike at school and Gerald working on a big case, it would all mostly have to be done alone. The relatives would not arrive for a few more days, and when they did she would be able to lighten her caseload a little, but until then she would be on her own.  
This was not necessarily a problem; she had no doubt in her mind that she would be able to successfully pull the whole thing together, even if it she did it by herself. No one could say that Sheila Broflovski was not a good woman to depend on to make things happen.

As she began the task of sorting through the various packages, her cell phone began to buzz. A quick look revealed it to be her husband, and she answered. He had been in a meeting during the last stretch of her shopping excursion, so he was likely calling to confirm that everything went well.  
"Hi honey, did you manage everything?"  
"Oh yes dear; everything's fine." She continued removing items from her bags, leaving invitation cards and pens on the table in plain sight. She would need to finish writing the invitations and then mail them before the end of the day if she wanted to ensure that everyone in South Park got them in time.  
"Alright, that's good. Rabbi Schwartz called and confirmed that the synagogue will be ready in time for Saturday, and my parents and my sister's family said they're going to be here on the 23rd."  
"Oh, thank God. I could certainly use the help." Rapidly disseminating the items around the kitchen with only one free hand, it seemed that she was not too terribly in need of help. "And what a blessing that Kyle's birthday should fall on the Sabbath this year. Odds are we won't be so lucky with Ike."  
"Well, let's just focus on one at a time for now." Gerald paused for a moment, and Sheila could hear him shuffling papers around. Likely he was still sitting at his desk, looking over his case files. "Oh Sheila, I almost forgot. You'll have to take the boys to get their suits tailored after school. I can't get away this afternoon."  
"Yes dear, that's fine." Having completed the majority of her methodical organization, she was settling down at the kitchen table, unwrapping the paper invitations and setting them in neatly aligned piles. "I told Kyle this morning he would start needing to work on what he plans to say," she continued. "I'm sure he'll come up with something nice; he's such a good public speaker."  
"I'll offer to help him later when I get home too," Gerald replied. From her pocket, Sheila produced a list of everyone in South Park due to receive an invitation; all organized alphabetically. With a finger she indicated the first family on the list, and then crossed it out. The Black family would be out of town next Saturday, and wouldn't be able to come; she had had the good fortune to run into Linda during her shopping spree today to learn this. The Black family wished Kyle all the best and promised they would send some small token of congratulations in time for the celebration, and they regretted not being able to attend.

One name down already, Sheila picked up her pen and moved onto the next name."Liane Cartman," she mumbled, beginning to write.  
"Oh, honey I'm not sure we should invite the Cartmans..."  
"Why ever not?" She continued writing anyway; if it was decided that the Cartmans should not attend, she could afford to spare this one invitation, and she hated to backtrack due to indecision. "Liane is a wonderful woman and she's always been very hospitable to our bubbe."  
"Oh, it's nothing against Liane. It's just that Kyle has been telling me about her son, Eric. Apparently he's been giving Kyle a hard time."  
"Hmm." The pen hovered over the invitation, contemplating. "Well, we'll talk to Liane after this." She continued filling out the paper, cordially inviting the Cartmans to attend the celebration of Kyle's lifetime. "If Kyle feels very strongly about not letting Eric come then that's his choice. That is what this is all about, anyway."  
"Yes, dear."

Her phone began to buzz again and another, unknown number popped up on the screen. "Gerald, I'll have to call you back in a moment; someone else is trying to call."  
"No need; I have to type up some paperwork anyway. The quicker I get this done the quicker I can come home."  
"Don't forget; I'm depending on you to finish the grocery shopping for me."  
"I won't dear; I love you."  
"I love you too." She pressed a button with one hand and put aside the Cartmans' invitation with the other, then pulled a blank card from the pile. "Hello?" she answered, already beginning to write the next name: Donovan.  
"Yes, Mrs. Broflovski?"  
"Yes, this is she."  
"Hello, this is Principal Victoria." Being such a small town, the Elementary and Middle schools of South Park had combined into a K-8, or a school that offered Kindergarten through eighth grade, and Kyle was attending seventh grade in the same school he had been attending since Preschool. Sheila knew Principal Victoria well, (though there were rumors that she would be retiring soon) and so she greeted her happily.  
"Oh hello Principal Victoria! What can I do for you today?" she made a note at the top of the list to include the school faculty in the invitations; she had forgotten about Kyle's teachers and she figured that they would be thrilled to attend his ceremony after having known him for so long.

"Well, Mrs. Broflovski...there's no easy way for me to say this, but it's about your son, Kyle."  
Sheila's heart stopped. Every horrible, terrible thing that could possibly happen to her son in the course of a school day suddenly raced through her mind. Her throat constricted and her face suddenly burned red hot. "Oh God, is he okay? What happened? Is he at the hospital?"  
"No no, Kyle's fine. He's not hurt." Steadily, the panic attack subsided. She leaned back in her chair, huffing a sigh of relief. How awful it would have been for Kyle to wind up in the hospital (or worse!) with only a little more than a week to go!  
"Then what's wrong with him?" she asked.  
"Kyle is in some trouble. In fact, he's in a lot of trouble." The refreshing wave of relief over her panic began to withdraw, and now the first stirrings of anger began to take shape.  
"What kind of trouble?" she asked flatly, reluctant to jump to any more sudden conclusions. The voice on the other end gave a little sigh, and it made her feel no better.  
"I'm afraid to inform you that Kyle has beat up another student in his class. Eric Cartman wound up going to the hospital. I want to make it clear that we know that Kyle is not a troublemaker, but we can't allow him to go unpunished given how severe the situation was. And from what we understand, this is not the first time that Kyle has attacked Eric. The school has decided to suspend him for one week. We'll need you to come pick him up immediately."  
Sheila's breath was stolen away; there had simply been nothing to prepare her to receive this information. She was absolutely dumbfounded; devastated. Kyle? HER Kyle? Her bubbe? Beat up a classmate? It could not be true!  
"But how?" she asked hysterically. "Why would he do something like-"  
"Mrs. Broflovski, if you could come by my office as soon as possible, we can talk to you about the situation. We have various teachers here willing to talk about what happened, and you can confront Kyle yourself."  
"Oh, I'll confront him alright!" With the Donovan's invitation only half written, Sheila threw her pen to the table and pushed out her chair, and she angrily began storming around the kitchen, recollecting various items necessary for her to leave. "Tell him I'll ring him by the neck!" she nearly shouted into the phone as her anger erupted into a full-on onslaught. Kyle was lucky to be sitting in the principal's office rather than anywhere near his mother at that moment.  
"See you soon, Mrs. Broflovski," said the principal before Sheila pressed a button and ended the phone call.  
Of all the weeks for her son to do this; of all the weeks indeed.

* * *

Some days later, Kyle Broflovski sat abjectly in a single chair in the counselor's office. Mr. Mackey was still the counselor all this time later, and they had just completed a long, tedious hour consisting of one-sided monologues and brief discussions of feelings. Only 9 in the morning, Kyle was completely drained mentally. He dreaded hearing what his next task would be, but as long as he didn't have to talk about Cartman, his mother, and everything else in his life that had been dissected, he would do it without complaint.

"M'kay, Kyle, the faculty has decided that you should perform some community service in addition to your suspension." Mr. Mackey had exchanged his clipboard for a pair of gardening gloves, which he handed to Kyle. "Instead of having you stay at home, your mother has determined that you would better learn your lesson working for the school doing various chores. Today, you'll be weeding the outside of the school, m'kay."  
"ALL of it?" asked Kyle despondently. There had been a number of expansions made to the school to accommodate three extra grades, and South Park K-8 was now almost an impressively large school considering how small their town was. Without even needing to look, it felt like he could weed for months and never finish.  
"Just the weeds closest to the buildings; the rest will be taken care of by the school's usual gardeners."  
"How is forcing me to perform slave labor going to teach me discipline?"  
"Now Kyle, we've talked about this, m'kay. I know you're a bright kid, m'kay, but you don't know everything. Sometimes adults just understand things a little bit better, m'kay. And besides, this is a direct order from your mother."  
Kyle sighed. If nothing else, it would get him out of the house for a while. He was sick of listening to his mother rant and rave and cry over what had happened; she wouldn't even hear out his side. She had nearly canceled the big day on May 26th, but with so many preparations already in place, his father had convinced her to leave it be, and to instead punish Kyle the entire week up until the ceremony. What should have been a week of joyful preparations was solemn and depressing. Thus far he had been doing nonstop chores at home to prepare for the 26th; now he would be weeding the school. At the time he had told himself that no punishment would make him regret having finally gotten revenge on Cartman, but now he was not so sure.

"So it's about 9 am now, and school's out at 3 pm. You have until then to finish the weeding, and if you aren't done by the end of the day, you'll just have to pick it up again tomorrow, mkay?"  
"Yes Mr. Mackey," listlessly replied Kyle. He was already putting the gloves on.  
"Just throw them on the lawn after you pull them and the school gardeners will take care of the rest," said Mr. Mackey as he led him to the door of his office. "Remember, Kyle: it'll only take it as long as you make it, m'kay?"  
"You aren't going to oversee me?" Kyle was a little surprised. Since being suspended he had not been left alone even for a moment, as if everyone expected him to run off and start beating up more bigot fat asses. But Mr. Mackey just shook his head.  
"No, I'll be in my office. The school has better things to do than watch you pull weeds, m'kay. You can feel free to run away and slack off if you like Kyle, but both myself and Principal Victoria will be out to inspect what you've achieved at the end of the day, m'kay. If it's not satisfactory then we'll have to call your mother, m'kay."  
There was no other threat that could have been as potent as that one. "I'll get it done, Mr. Mackey."  
"There's a good boy, now go ahead and start, m'kay. You'll want to hurry and get the hard work done before the afternoon hits."

Kyle sulked out of Mr. Mackey's office and made his way towards the back of the school. He didn't want to be made an example of and work out front where everyone could see him; not yet, anyway. In the back he would at least have some solitude for a while.  
In the halls he tried to move as inconspicuously as possible, but it felt like the eyes of every passing student was on him. He felt as though some giant spotlight was shining from above for all to see and tease; hey everyone, it's Kyle! He's suspended from school! He especially dreaded seeing Craig, who would surely boast about having never been suspended despite the thickness of his permanent record.  
It was shameful. He had never been suspended before. He'd been in trouble, sure, but never this serious.  
But then, he'd never sent another kid to the hospital before.  
It was still strangely satisfying to know that while everyone knew he was suspended, they also all knew it was for beating up Eric Cartman; this time really giving him a piece of his own medicine and making him swallow it hard. He had been congratulated a few times, even. But even that did not lessen the disgrace of becoming the school's personal slave for a week.

"Hey, dude." Kyle lifted his eyes from the path of despair he was walking. Stan was there.  
"Hey," he replied dejectedly. He and Stan had grown apart in recent years, namely due to his friend's incessant, insufferable cynicism.  
One might argue that Stan was more depressed without Kyle around; one might also argue that Kyle's temper had shortened considerably for that very same reason. It was easy to pitch theories about a friendship if you weren't a participating party of it.  
But while they were still friends in the loose sense of the term, they were no longer best friends, and Kyle had not been able to speak with him about the incident. Stan was just as in the dark about what had happened as the rest of the student body that had not been lucky enough to witness it first hand.

"I heard you beat up Fatass. Nice." Awkwardly extending a fist, Kyle just as awkwardly touched knuckles with him. Sure Cartman had been their friend for years, but they were both in agreement that he had been long overdue for a thorough ass-kicking.  
"If only you'd been there to talk me out of it," Kyle said. It may have been the wrong thing to say; at least, Stan seemed rubbed the wrong way by it. Even his eyes seemed to reflect his frown. "Now I'm the school's slave for a week and on my mother's shitlist for I don't even know how long."  
"Oh, well, you deserved it I guess." It was also the wrong thing to say. He deserved it? After having suffered through Cartman's wrath for years and finally standing up for himself? He DESERVED it?  
Kyle chose to let it go. He had enough on his plate without having to dissect Stan's bizarre stance on how justice worked. "I've got to get going." He lifted his hands, indicating the gloves. "They've got me weeding out back."  
"Okay." Kyle stepped around him and walked on, not pausing for a moment until Stan yelled after him. "Hey, are you doing anything for your birthday? It's on Saturday this year, right?" Kyle stopped, and glancing over his shoulder, he nodded.  
"I'll talk to you about it later," he promised, then he continued on without giving Stan an opportunity to respond. He may or may not decide to talk to him later. His mother had already sent an invitation to the Marsh family, so Kyle's personal invitation did not matter very much anyway.  
He would be 13. God; what an awful, miserable age, and for so many reasons.

Reaching the back of the school, Kyle shielded his eyes with an outstretched hand as he took in the sheer size of his workspace, and he allowed his backpack to slide off of his shoulder into the dry grass. He saw what Mr. Mackey meant; the lawn itself was nice and short, even green now that the snow had finally melted, but the weeds grew out of control, and they were too close to the walls of the building for gardeners to get at. He would have to outline the entirety of the school to complete his task, and it was going to take a very long time.  
Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the long day ahead, Kyle faced the building, got to his knees, and grabbed his first clump of weeds, tossing them over his shoulder.  
One down; one million to go.

No more than half an hour later, it became very clear to Kyle why Mr. Mackey had warned him to work his hardest in the morning before the afternoon's summer heat. Already he had grown uncomfortable enough to take off his jacket, and when that was not enough, off came his over shirt. Now all that was left with a thin white undershirt, a flimsy tank-top, and even that felt like too much. He had disposed of his cap as well, which left his frizzy, unruly curls uncontrolled and all over the place. But there was one thing to be said about having hair as curly as his; at least it stayed out of his face.  
Sweat dripped down his face and stung his eyes, and whenever he reached up to wipe them away, the stinging sweat was merely replaced by stinging dirt, and nothing was accomplished. He pulled blindly at weeds for some time until he finally leaned back to sit on his calves, and wiped up his face with his discarded over shirt.  
He was sure his mother would scold him for getting his clothes so dirty, and even in the hot sun he felt his face burn at the thought. It would only be logical that he would end up sweaty and dirty being forced to weed the school for an entire day, but would his mother see the sense in that?  
Most likely not.

Kyle gazed up at the sky; the sun had not even nearly ascended to its full height yet, and he cursed it, and then he cursed his pride. Had he started from the front of the school, he would have traveled with the sun, blocking it out as he moved. Instead, he had started at the back, and by the time he moved around to the front, he would have followed it all the way around.  
He felt like it was too late to switch now, and anyway, now he REALLY didn't want to be outside the front of the school. In the state he was in, hot and tired and miserable so early in the morning, he realized how pitiful he must look, and the last thing he wanted at this point was pity.

Kyle's eyes were still aimed skyward, but he was getting ready to resume his task at hand when a mess of dirty blond hair suddenly obscured his vision. Alarmed, he nearly fell back, but he caught himself just in time. Sky-blue eyes replaced the sky-blue ceiling he had been occupied with before.  
"What's up?" said his visitor, perhaps both literally and figuratively. Dumbly, for a few seconds, Kyle blinked and tried to figure out who it was. And then it came to him suddenly, and he blurt his name out incredulously.

"Kenny?" The blond mess withdrew from above his head, and Kyle turned to follow him. Kenny it was; standing apathetically just behind him, he used one foot to scratch the ankle of the other. "What are you doing here?"  
"I'm here to keep you company," Kenny replied, as if it were the most natural thing he could be doing given that it was nine-thirty in the morning on a Monday; a school day.  
"Shouldn't you be in school?"  
"Shouldn't you?" Kyle's ears turned pink, clashing violently with his frizzy red hair.  
"I'm suspended; you know that. That doesn't explain you though."  
Kenny shrugged. "I didn't feel like going to school today."

Kyle was aghast. Kenny was skipping school? For what? Him? He didn't want anyone to think he had been encouraging his friends to skip school; that would just give him _more_ trouble, and that was the very last thing he needed. "You're playing hookey dude?" Kenny glanced away and gave one curt nod, sort of dismissively.  
"You can call it that if you want. Is that a problem?"  
"Yeah, that's kind of a problem!"  
"Relax. I can fake my mom's signature really well. Spot on," he assured him confidently.  
"That's not the point, dude..."  
He shrugged again. Nonchalant to the point of disinterest, Kenny was trying to smooth his hair down as the summer breeze threw it in his eyes; a bother he was unaccustomed to given how infrequently he went without a hood. But it was no use; the blond mop was evidently not tameable. "Stan was going to join me too, but there's this math test today that he couldn't afford to miss." Giving up on his hair, he threw his hands into his front pockets. In anticipation of a hot day, he had swapped his obscuring, heavy orange parka for a sleeveless white hoodie, though despite the warmth he wore jeans that had likely once been black, but had been washed to a dull gray. "I didn't study for it at all, so I just bailed. It's okay though; I can afford the F."  
"Stan was going to skip school for me?" While Kyle still felt angry at Kenny for doing something so stupid, he couldn't help but also feel grateful he had said that. After the earlier confrontation with Stan, he had started to wonder if his friend even cared about his plight. He wondered why he hadn't said anything earlier.  
"Yeah. He said he'll do it tomorrow instead. Nothing going on tomorrow."  
"I didn't know he still cared that much." Kyle had not failed to notice that his temper was now an infamous topic without Stan to keep him in check. He found it harder to hold back when he was angry, and he made decisions more rashly and based on emotion rather than logic. He had spoken the truth in the hall; had Stan been there for him, he felt like he would not have wound up on the floor with Cartman at all. But he had not been, and so he had.  
"Sure he does," Kenny said in response. "Aren't you two still friends?"  
That was a hard question, one Kyle didn't particularly feel like answering. Instead, he took a thick handful of crab grass and pulled. Kenny took the hint and did not press the issue.

"Want some help?" he asked, after they stood in silence for several minutes while Kyle pulled, discarded, and then pulled.  
"No, this is my punishment. Not yours." Kenny just shrugged and leaned casually against the brick wall of the school. From his pocket he produced a pack of cigarettes. He gently hit them against the wall to settle the tobacco, simultaneously withdrawing a cheap plastic lighter.  
"When did you start?" asked Kyle. He wasn't exactly surprised to see that his friend had picked up the habit; given his family life, it would have been stranger to see him turn out completely on the straight and narrow. He was just asking more out of polite curiosity; sure they were still friends, but he was not as close to Kenny as he was others, and it was the first time he'd noticed him smoke.  
Internally, it made him once again whinge at the fact that Kenny had insisted upon skipping school to associate with him. It was bad enough to be suspended; he didn't also want to be keeping the company of someone who was playing hookey and smoking right in the middle of the damn school yard. Kyle couldn't afford any more strikes against him.  
"About two months ago, not long before I hit 13. I almost asked my folks for a Zippo for my birthday, but I don't think they're ready to hear I'm smoking yet. My brother just got nailed for a DUI, and since it's underage, well, you know. It's a nuisance."  
Kyle bit his tongue and managed to reply with a civil, polite, "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Kenny had a way of making your own messed up life seem dull and typical by making his extremely fucked up life seem mundane and normal. Kyle wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing; depending on how you looked at it, he was either an infallible optimist or a kid tragically in denial.  
Ignorant that he'd said anything troublesome, let alone implying that his brother would possibly be going to jail and referring to it as a "nuisance," Kenny stuck a cigarette in between his lips and, needing several flicks to light a flame on the shitty lighter, lit it, and then took a deep drag on it. "Maybe Christmas I'll ask 'em," he said with a grin, smoke seeping out from his lips.  
"Yeah."  
"Want a puff?"  
"No thanks." Already on death row for being suspended, Kyle had a sinking suspicion that he would suffer a fate far worse than death if he took up smoking in the same week.  
"'kay." Inhaling again and letting it slowly release, he attempted to blow a smoke ring. It failed miserably. "I'll figure it out eventually," he said with a wink.  
And that was the end of that. Kyle pulled weeds; Kenny smoked. The day staunchly pressed on.

"You know, you're being pretty ballsy," Kyle said some time later to initiate the conversation again. This was one of the reasons they did not tend to hang out together; they could not maintain conversation. Why exactly Kenny had come to keep him company knowing this, Kyle was not sure. It was awkward for him to be working silently as Kenny stood above him, just as silently doing nothing. "Skipping school on a test day, only to hang out behind said school and smoke; it's like you're asking for trouble."  
"That's the beauty of it. No one will know who I am." After knocking the ash off of the end of the butt with one hand and then vainly attempting once again to smooth the blond wreck on his head with the other, he continued. "Everyone recognizes me by the orange parka because I always hide myself. And since no one ever sees my face and I say as little as possible, when I don't feel like being bothered, I just eliminate both features and voila: hidden in plain sight. I'm not even trying to hide, but I'm invisible. It's genius, if I do say so myself."  
"Genius," Kyle agreed dryly. He didn't seem very convinced, though he admitted mentally that when unmasked and vocal, it was almost as if Kenny was two different friends. But putting appearances aside, he was just the same as ever; the quiet presence in the background, nearly a ghost. All he did was shadow him, remaining detached as usual; inspiring no conversation and merely speaking to when spoken.

The May sunshine was flaring in the early morning. Although the temperate Colorado weather wouldn't see a significant up rise for another month or two, it was an exceptionally warm day in South Park, and Kyle was already bathed in a fine sheen of sweat, as well as dirt. It was slowly dawning on him just how much more work he had ahead of him before the day was through. Then he realized-  
"Fuck my life," he muttered. "I should have worn sunblock."  
Breathing out the warm, acrid smog, Kenny replied, "Dude, you are going to be as red as your hair by the day's end."  
Kyle pulled weeds. Kenny smoked.

It was almost an hour later when Kyle finally opted to take a break. He knew that it would only take as long as he made it take, but he had been hunched over the entire time, pulling and yanking and then slowly side stepping to the next bunch while Kenny trailed along behind him, ever his silent shadow.  
His hands were cramped, his back was sore, and his skin was on fire, or at least felt like it; while it wouldn't turn red for a while to come, it felt scorched, burned to the touch, and there seemed no hope of salvaging it. He was exhausted and possibly over heating, and he was no where near close to his overall goal.  
Not even two hours into his work, Kyle was as dispirited as could be. If this was only his first day's punishment, he hated to see what was in store for the remainder of the week. He would not be permitted to return to school until Thursday, and that left four more days of whatever corrective punishment the school felt entitled to pass out.  
There was no doubt in his mind that beating up Cartman had not been worth this; at least not the mild ass-kicking he'd been able to administer before he'd been pulled away. Now, had he managed to kill him or break a few bones, maybe.

Not content with being enough of a rule breaker as it was, Kenny disappeared into the school and later returned with a bottle of water and two cans of Sprite, the first of which Kyle swiped and gulped greedily. They sat in the shade of the school, the steps which would ordinarily be the hang out of the goth kids when school was not in session.  
"How much longer do you have to do this?" Kenny asked. He gestured towards the rest of the school, which, now that Kyle looked at it, seemed like a vast wasteland.  
"Until I'm done," he said. He finished the water with a thirsty swallow, then moved onto the Sprite.  
Kenny whistled as he absorbed just how much more work Kyle had to do. "Dude, you're never coming back to school, are you?"  
"It'll only take it as long as I make it," replied Kyle, quoting Mr. Mackey. The statement seemed even more inane and pointless coming from his own mouth. In the hot sun, sore all over, the words meant nothing to him. He rest his head against the wall, closing his eyes and dreaming of somewhere dark, cool, and quiet. Sure Kenny was as quiet a companion as you could hope for, but summertime brought masses of insects, and insects buzzed relentlessly. "Besides, if I don't finish today, I just have to come do it again tomorrow."  
"Are you sure you don't want my help?" Kenny asked again  
"You aren't the one beating up all those innocent bullies," Kyle said wryly.  
Kenny smirked and snorted a laugh, and then raised his own can of Sprite to his lips. "I just ain't been caught yet."

Soon, Kyle was back to sweating. He distinctly felt that he was not deriving a lesson from any of this at all, but whether or he did or did not was not the point. The point was that his mother and the school (but more specifically his mother) felt that he was satisfactorily punished for his deeds, and utilizing him as slave labor seemed to fit these needs.

"You can go if you want, Kenny," Kyle finally said after another long bout of silence took them. He appreciated Kenny's intended support, but he was starting to feel that he would rather be alone than be with someone who simply stood there. "I'm sure you're bored."  
"Nah. What else would I be doing anyway?"  
"Oh, I don't know, maybe going to school?" Kyle's sarcasm was as dry as the May sunshine, and Kenny chuckled. With a twinkle in his eye, the blond just wagged a finger at him and tsked, tsked, tsked.  
"There's another reason I'm here," he informed him.  
Tartly, Kyle replied, "Oh, please grace me with the deeper meaning behind your presence." Once again, it drifted right over Kenny's head.  
"You want to talk to someone and I'm a good listener. So I'm here for when you finally blow up. I'm a good friend like that."  
"I don't need to do anymore talking; trust me." And he didn't, at least he thought. He'd had more than enough talking from the principal, with Mr. Mackey, his mother, his father, his rabbi; all of them. All any of them had wanted to do was sit down with him and talk about what had happened. He was sick of talking.

Nonetheless, he had inadvertently given himself a topic that would eat up the silence. "You know my birthday is next week, right?"  
"Duh." With nothing left to occupy him and not wanting to waste all of his cigarettes at once, Kenny reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a scratched up Gameboy SP. "I've only known you since Preschool; it's not like you have a birthday every year." Then, indicating the SP, he said, "No one wants these anymore. Got this and a bunch of games for twenty bucks. So what if it's old; it's got great games."  
"Well, it's not just my birthday this year."  
"Oh?" Kenny had plopped to the ground, hunched against the sun to see the screen better. Perhaps the console was just as good, but it provided little to no vision in sunlight.  
"It's also my Bar Mitzvah this year," he finished. Kyle had been avoiding mentioning this to anyone in lieu of Cartman's unavoidable teasing, and while it was common knowledge that Kyle was turning 13 on his next birthday, and that he was a Jew, it was not common knowledge that Jewish boys had a Bar Mitzvah on their 13th birthday, especially in a Podunk mountain town in which the religious majority was Catholic.

As expected, Kenny raised a brow in response. "That sounds familiar. It's a Jewish thing you do for something. I don't know what it is."  
"It's a coming of age thing; practically my entire family and a lot of people in South Park will be there. It's supposed to be a huge ceremony. It celebrates me being a son of God's laws. It means I'm allowed to read from the Torah. It means I'm accountable for my actions. It symbolizes me becoming a man."  
"Well, hot damn Kyle, ain't that good thang?" Kenny was more or less well-spoken with a neutral accent for about 90% of his speech, but in moments requiring more emotion, a Southern drawl would slip through. He hadn't been raised by the biggest rednecks in South Park for nothing.  
Kyle was appreciative that someone thought it was exciting, but he was less thrilled.  
"That's what sucks most about all of this, dude. The fight. The suspension. The community service. My mother says I'm supposed to be a man but I'm still acting like a child. How can they celebrate me being an adult when I still get into fist fights at school? That kind of thing. My parents were in the middle of planning the biggest celebration of my life and then they found out I'd been suspended. They were...devastated."  
"Fuck it; they should be proud that their son will stand up for himself against fucktards like Cartman instead of cowering like a little pussy." As quickly as it had came, the drawl was gone and replaced by the neutral tone that threw around cuss words as easily as you might throw rocks in a pond. "If you're meant to be a fucking man then that means you have to stand up like one, not lay down and let yourself get fucked in the ass. Hell; sometimes I want to give Stan a good ass-whooping to knock him out of whatever funk he's been in lately."  
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Kyle hadn't told Stan about the Bar Mitzvah yet, which accounted for his earlier question. He knew now that Stan had not forgotten his birthday, and he was sure he would remember that it would be his 13th, but the whole big party thing? He had been keeping it as quiet as his mother would allow. Naturally she thought half the damn town should be invited, and never mind how embarrassed Kyle felt about it.

"You never did tell anyone what happened," Kenny eventually continued when it was clear that Kyle had nothing more to say regarding Stan. He was catching on quick. "None of us were surprised you finally lost it and beat the shit out of Cartman, so none of us thought to ask exactly what set you off. We just assumed the obvious. Cartman was probably talking shit and you'd finally had it."  
"The Bar Mitzvah is actually the reason behind all of it. Cartman found out about it, and he wouldn't stop torturing me. He threatened to tell the whole school. He made fun of my parents. He folded a yarmulke out of paper and wrote "JEW" on it in huge letters and put it on my head during class. Everyone laughed at me for almost _an hour_ before I realized what he'd done." Angrily, Kyle resumed pulling the crab grass and dandelions from the ground and threw them with force behind him. He seemed to be enraged enough to still kick Cartman's ass a second time if he dared show his face. "I'd had enough, dude. I couldn't take it anymore. I _would not_ take it any more. So I kicked his fat fucking ass as thoroughly as I could."  
"I don't blame you, dude." Kenny actually seemed sympathetic, like maybe he really did understand. "Cartman had it coming to him. He hadn't gotten an ass-whooping like that since Wendy stuck it to him back in fourth grade."  
"Yeah, well, everyone else blamed me. Even my parents. They wouldn't even listen to _why_ I did it." Anger beginning to fizzle out again, he leaned back on his calves. A moment later he was burying his face in his hands, sighing and shaking his head. His own outrage embarrassed him. "And even if it was just Cartman, I feel really bad about it. I don't know what was wrong with me to be so mad and to want to hurt him so much. I mean; fuck. It's Cartman. It's just what he does. I know that. I've been his friend since Preschool _despite_ that. And yet I legitimately wanted to kill him, dude. I even told him I was going to kill him. Butters told me later it looked like I was frothing at the mouth, I was so angry; he said I looked like a rapid dog. I was furious when Clyde and Token pulled me off of him."  
"We all nearly beat them up for stopping you, trust me." Kyle looked so small and so miserable that Kenny put his game down and awkwardly put a hand on his shoulder. They weren't the closest of friends, and comforting things like that didn't really come easily to them, so even if it wasn't much, Kyle acknowledged that he was at least trying.  
At least he was there, unlike Stan.

"It's not like he was hurt that badly, you know," Kenny went on. "We all say he was sent to the hospital like it was serious, but I saw him not long after he was released. All he did was get a brace for his wrist and some stitches, although now he goes on about it like you crippled him for life. He didn't even lose any teeth. I'll bet you he's just fine now."  
"That's not the point, Kenny. It's like...it's almost like he's right. I'm a bad person because I'm a Jew. And my mother is right. I'm not ready to be a man yet and I can't be responsible for my actions, because obviously all I'll do is get into fights."  
"So you have a short fuse; big deal." Kenny waved it away, as though the point were truly irrelevant to the conversation. "Fatass is the only one you've ever done anything to. As long as I've known you he's the only one who's managed to set you off like that."  
"I just...I hate being a Jew, Kenny," Kyle finally found himself admitting in a whisper. A miserable truth buried very deeply finally coming to the surface. "Of all the kids in South Park, why did I have to be the Jew?"  
"Don't say that, dude," Kenny asserted firmly. For being so disinterested and nonchalant about the rest of the conversation, Kenny was especially passionate about this point. It was almost like he cared. Perhaps he only felt justified in having assumed that Kyle had a lot more to say than what had been milked out of him in preceding, bullshit talk sessions with various authority figures. Nonetheless, there was none of his typical imprudent, dismissive attitude. Every word he said, he meant. "Kyle, you're the only one of us who even has a scrap of religious faith in his body. Don't let Eric Cartman change that."  
"Sure, and I renounce it regularly." It was something of a running joke for Kyle to renounce his faith in Judaism at least once a year, if not more. Both Kyle and Kenny were perfectly aware of this.  
"Okay, and then you go right back to it after. You actually know and understand your religion, and I don't know anybody else who is actually a practitioner of whatever the fuck their parents tell them their religion is; fuck, Stan doesn't know the difference between Catholicism and Christianity. Cartman rips on me for being white trash every day; do you think I give a shit? I know I'm fucking poor; you know you're a fucking Jew. All he's doing is pointing out the obvious. Frankly I wonder if he's more retarded than Timmy." Kyle stifled a snort. The mental image of Cartman sitting in Timmy's wheelchair had come to him, with Cartman yelling 'CARTMAN!' in response to everything. Kenny seemed to have a similar thought and burst out laughing, and he did a perfect imitation of what it would sound like: "CARTMAN!" They both laughed uncontrollably for nearly a solid minute at the thought of little disabled Cartman in his wrist brace, rolling around in a wheelchair and shouting his name.

The cruelty of children could be astounding sometimes, but for them, it at least dulled a sharply unpleasant mood.

Eventually, Kyle sobered up. Even with tears in his eyes from laughter, he was not quick to forget the reason for his current misery. "But I really do hate it, dude. I'm not even an orthodox Jew. I just do everything because my parents tell me to. If I had the choice I wouldn't be Jewish at all. "  
"Well, fuck, if it bothers you _that_ much, just stop doing what your parents tell you to."  
"That's easy for you to say."  
"No, it's not easy for me to say. My parents beat the fucking snot out of me if I don't do what they say, and half the time I don't even know what the fuck it is they want. But as long as I can say the damned 'Hail Mary' I won't get my ass whooped. Your mom will just yell at you. Big fucking deal. Grow a pair and tell your parents you don't want a Bar Mitzvah." Once again, Kenny said this with no special emphasis or added fanfare; he was simply stating facts, neither attempting to milk pity from Kyle nor insinuating that it was even abnormal to have the fucking snot beat out of him for reasons he didn't even know.  
Since he didn't seem to see the trouble with it, Kyle opted not to focus on it.  
"It's not that simple, dude. Broflovskis are coming from different states to see this. These ceremonies are a really big deal; I just don't know how to explain it because there's no Christian equivalent. it's like... how Spanish girls have a _Quinceañera_ ."  
"Sooo you're saying you can't stand up to your parents because you're like some whorish Mexican girl." Kyle stifled a laugh again. "And I'm a Goddamn Roman Catholic, not Christian; thank you very fucking much."  
"Forget it dude." Kenny was obviously not the best friend to discuss the matter with. He had zero sensitivity when it came to religion or dealing with one's parents; less than the average person due to not having had an especially stellar version of either to go off of. "It's not a big deal."  
"Well, you're the one picking weeds for the rest of your life because it was a big enough deal for you to put Fatass in the hospital."  
Kyle could not reasonably counter this point, and so he simply continued tending to the undying masses of weeds.  
The oddest part was that, after this, the silence was not awkward. It was as it had always been; Kyle deeply engrossed in his own thoughts as Kenny silently shadowed him, allowing him to sidestep a few feet before he picked himself up, settled a foot or so away, and then fell back against the wall. There was no tension; only silent understanding, and this, Kyle realized was why Kenny had decided to stay.

The day wore on. The sun grew taller and hotter, and Kyle continued pulling weeds while Kenny continued playing Gameboy. It was monotonous, boring, and uneventful, and in Kyle's case, extremely tiresome. Children were released from the school in hoards for recess, and then recycled back in groups to take lunch. For a while there was a never ending buzz of children replacing the eternal hum of insects, and Kyle decided not long after it started that he preferred the former over the latter.

Kyle recognized some of his friends from a distance, and at one point he saw the goth kids take up residence at their usual hangout, although if they noticed that it had been briefly utilized by a sweaty suspended Jew and a careless skipping redneck, they didn't say anything.  
He kept an eye out for Stan, but he was nowhere to be found. He was positive that his class was rotating through lunch, but it apparently hadn't occurred to Stan that he could use this brief reprieve to go looking for his best friend.  
"Stan's probably just preoccupied with something. You know how he gets."  
"...I'm not thinking about Stan," Kyle grumbled when he realized that Kenny had spoken directly to him. Invigorated, he threw more weeds behind him.  
"You're either thinking of Cartman or Stan. I've been sitting here watching you pull weeds for almost three hours. When you think of one of them you start ripping weeds out of the ground like they just called your mother a fat ugly bitch."  
"Thanks, Freud."  
"No problem."

Kenny folded up his Gameboy and stretched lazily; sitting around for hours was hard work, don't you know. "So what are you doing for lunch?" he asked after Kyle had cooled off again.  
"My mother packed me a lunch." As he leaned back to wipe the sweat off of his forehead, he realized just how hungry he was. A gaping hole seemed to have formed in his stomach. "I left it in my backpack. Can you go get it?" He had dropped it near the back entrance to the school when he had first started, and he had neglected to carry it with him as he made the slow rotation around the walls. And as it was, he didn't think he had enough strength in his legs to stand up and go get it now.  
"Can I have some of what's in it?"  
"Sure, whatever."  
There was no need to tell him twice. Kenny was off.

Painstakingly, moving slowly and carefully to avoid provoking his sore muscles, Kyle put his back to the wall and spread out his legs. His head collapsed backwards against the bricks, absolutely no strength left, and his feet were starting to tingle as they came awake again. His back was none too pleased about having to rest against hard bricks, but he couldn't move anymore to find a more comfortable spot. He couldn't even take his gloves off. He didn't think he would be able to get back up again to finish weeding, and he still had a long, long way to go. There was no doubt that he would not finish today, and that meant coming back tomorrow. He couldn't even bear to think of having to trudge out here a second time, even more tired than the first.

Kenny returned shortly, dropping the backpack to his side and then taking up residence directly next to him until he revealed the food. "Does she pack you good stuff?" he asked.  
"It's usually healthy and kosher."  
"Let's see it."  
As he unveiled the anticipated lunch, they quickly realized that the bag was full of disaster. A chicken salad sandwich. Sweet potato chips. Raisins. Guava juice. Dry, tasteless pound cake. Even Kenny turned his nose at it, and he was not one to turn away from a free meal.  
"Christ, my mother used to pack me things like cheese sandwiches and Cheetos and Twinkies," he said scornfully as he read the label on the chips. Baked, healthy, unsalted, unflavored; unappetizing.  
"My mother is weird," Kyle muttered in response. He also secretly wondered if she thought he was fat or something; he thought he was skinny, but she was always fussing with him about his weight. Probably misplaced self-consciousness.

Kyle's stomach grumbled, and so did Kenny's. But even hunger couldn't make the food look appetizing; they both tried splitting the sweet potato chips, but they tasted awful. A single box of raisins would be hard to share, and neither of them even wanted to touch the sandwich. The juice was gone instantly down two thirsty throats. It was an understatement to say that lunch was a disappointment.  
"Oh well." Kenny leaned against the wall and cushioned his head with his arms, stretching lazily once again without a care in the world. "It wouldn't be the first time I'd missed out on lunch."  
"Why don't you just go to the cafeteria?" Kyle had not forgotten that Kenny received free lunch from the school, and he didn't understand why Kenny would obstinately prefer to sit with him and skip lunch rather than just go get his free meal.  
"I don't really want to be spotted and called out. Did you forget I'm skipping to hang out with you?"  
Not that Kyle felt responsible or anything, but he did feel bad. Even if it had been Kenny's choice to play hooky just to keep him company, he didn't like that this meant he wouldn't be getting any lunch because of it. He knew he didn't have money, and he knew his chances of getting a decent meal outside of school lunch were slim.  
Kyle made up his mind. "Hey dude, if I gave you some money, would you go get me food?"  
Kenny perked up immediately at the potential promise of food. "Maybe," he said slyly. Then, he replied as Kyle had expected: "And what of my _que quid pro?_"  
"It's _quid pro quo_, dude," Kyle sighed as he pulled out a crumpled 10 dollar bill from his wallet. "You can get yourself something too," he added as he passed Kenny the money.  
"Sweet dude. I'm on it." Not suffering from exhaustion and sore muscles, Kenny was off once again.

He returned no more than about 30 minutes later with two bags full of greasy, fragrant fast food. For $10 (and one or two singles scrounged up from Kenny) he had produced two foil wrapped greaseball burgers of charred meat and congealing cheese, easily a pound or more of hot salted fries, and two thick vanilla milkshakes as well as two large Cokes a piece. The aroma of the hot, fatty food was sinfully enticing, and Kyle began drooling at once.  
"Oh my God Kenny, I love you," Kyle gushed as the bags were deposited in front of him, and, unsurprisingly, Kenny made no mention of leftover change.  
"Hell, if I knew all I needed to get in your pants was a few burgers and fries..." Kenny joked, but his quip was thoroughly ignored as the first bag was ravaged. Chicken salad and raisins forgotten, Kyle pulled the top of his Coke off and took a long draw from the cup. Kenny dove in with him and immediately began unwrapping his burger with utmost care, re-wrapping the foil around the bottom half to catch any potential fall outs.  
Kyle finally took a breath from his gluttonous gulping; the large cup's contents had already taken a serious dent. But before he took another drink, he said, "Diet?" indicating the sweating cup in his hand.  
"You're diabetic. Aren't diabetics supposed to drink diet soda or something?"  
"Modern science can't agree on what's bad for you at this point." Kyle dropped a handful of french fries into his mouth, and then set to work unwrapping his own burger while he robotically chewed. Once again, though, it occurred to him that Kenny had been unusually thoughtful. "I appreciate the thought though."  
Kenny shrugged and then took a huge bite, and then with his mouth still working on a glop of meat and bread and cheese, he said, "Thanks Kyle," or at least that's what he thought he said. No intelligent speech could be derived from them for several minutes after; merely grunts and sighs and other various, monosyllabic sounds of satisfaction as they gorged on fast food.

The orchestra of buzzing insects and softly rustling wind had returned. With lunch and recess complete for the day at South Park K-8, the screaming and chattering children were all safely crammed into stuffy classrooms for the betterment of their education. Stan had yet to make any attempt to contact Kyle at all, and this was not lost upon him.  
With the grease-spotted remains of their lunch scattered at their feet, the two boys sat against the school's hot brick walls with contentment somewhat resembling a catatonic state. It was hot, they were full, the sun was still unyielding, and if there had been nothing else to do a nap would have done them just fine. But there was more to do, and with every passing minute Kyle dreaded having to somehow pull himself together enough to accomplish enough weeding for the day to satisfy Mr. Mackey.  
Kenny seemed to be in no rush to continue playing his game, and he absently nibbled a stalk of nutsedge freshly plucked from the ground. "School will be out soon," he said, gripping onto the weed with his teeth to keep it from drifting away.  
"I know," Kyle replied, as dismal as ever.  
"At least you'll be done for the day."  
"Done here, maybe. Then I get to go home and listen to my mother."  
Kenny opted not to respond. Kyle made a brief, fruitless attempt to lift himself from the ground, but it was no use. The suffocating heat was too oppressive, and it seemed to weigh him down like an additional gravitational force. He could not bear to move just yet.

"So about this big party Saturday. You never mentioned if I was invited." Kyle scoffed at the most important event in his young life being referred to as a mere 'party,' but nonetheless, he replied.  
"My mother invited the whole damn town dude. You'll probably be getting your invitation in the mail in a day or two."  
"Aw, your tough old broad even sent one to my raggedy ass family? I'm touched." Kenny made as if to wipe away a tear, but it only drew a scowl from Kyle.  
"Only because I asked and because our dads are old friends," he mumbled. "You're not exactly her favorite among my small list of friends, you know."  
"No surprise there."  
"She didn't want to invite Craig's family either, and frankly I almost told her not to bother."  
"Why not?" interjected Kenny. "I like Craig; he's cool."  
"He's a prick, dude. Nobody likes Craig."  
"Well, ain't I the town's resident nobody?"  
"But with Token out of town on Saturday I figured Clyde would be lonely."  
Kenny smirked and, with the barest tips of his fingers, he flicked away the remainder of his nutsedge stalk. "That's awfully generous of you considering these are just guests at YOUR party."  
"Well, you know what? I realized I ultimately didn't really give a fuck who came."  
"And about how Eric?"  
Kyle pursed his lips together in a sour, begrudging scowl. "Cartman is under no circumstances going to be allowed within 50 feet of the synagogue on Saturday. I'll put policemen on street corners and sign a restraining order if I have to." After a slight pause, Kyle sighed, and then amended: "And yet, he will probably find some way to come anyway."  
"He never did like being denied something, not even as kids," Kenny agreed.

This comment sent Kyle straight off to a vacant daydream, and as before, Kenny simply let the silence settle around them like stagnant pond water. It didn't matter to him if they were talking or sitting quietly or screaming blood murder at each other; he was still soaking in the sun lazily, long enough to feel sleepy. It was only a few minutes later, but long enough where his eyes had been closed for some time and he was hovering just above the dream realm, when he heard Kyle finally speak again.  
The words managed to grab onto him and pull him back into the summer light, but as he blinked the fuzziness out of his eyes, he realized that they had not quite penetrated the darkness of that semi-dreamlike trance. He had clearly heard Kyle speak, albeit softly, but he could not remember for the life of him what he had said.  
"What did you say?" he asked.  
Kyle took his time responding, and Kenny nearly dismissed it; he could have been talking to himself, maybe he hadn't said anything at all. But finally he whispered, as though unveiling some terrible secret: "We aren't kids anymore."  
Kenny continued blinking himself awake. That was all? "No shit," he replied thickly. He cracked his neck loudly, rotating his shoulders to try and coax the stiffness out of them.  
"Doesn't that make you...I don't know dude, isn't it just weird to suddenly realize that?"  
"I don't see why. Since when did you even last think of yourself as a kid anyway?"  
"It's just scary, you know," Kyle sighed. He tiredly realized that he was once again speaking with someone who, despite being his own age, didn't quite understand the significance of his words. He knew that with the sort of life Kenny had, he had probably had to grow up a long time ago. "I mean, at the time it just felt like childhood lasted forever. I would have sworn I was 8 for 10 years. Then all of a sudden I was 9 and then 10 and now I'm about to become a teenager. And as far as Judaism is concerned, I'm about to become a man."  
"It's not all that big a deal." Now completely awake and not content with poisoning his body with fat, sodium and cholesterol, Kenny stuck a fresh cigarette in his mouth. "I turned 13 and hardly realized it. I don't feel like I'm any different from when I was 11 or 12, and I don't feel like a kid, even if technically I'm not an adult." In all fairness, Kenny was, with a March birthday, the eldest of the four boys, and Stan with an October birthday was the youngest.  
And yet, both Kyle and Kenny made the same acknowledgment at the same time.

"Somehow Stan knew this before any of us," Kyle said wearily. "All of a sudden, I understand him. Everything he's been saying makes sense. How did it take me so long to notice?"  
"Well, Stan has always been the sensitive one." As if reaffirming his earlier statement about not quite being an adult, Kenny took too deep a drag on his cigarette, and he began to sputter and cough until Kyle beat him hard on the back to help him catch his breath again. In between gasps for air, he said, "At least you didn't wind up some little fucking pussy though," obviously still referring to their persistently morose little friend.  
"It's just...it's happening too fast. I'm not ready for it. I just feel like I'm growing out of control dude." His insecure admissions were also beginning to erupt out of control; maybe Kenny had correctly guessed that Kyle was on the edge of exploding with the need to let it all out, but he hadn't been prepared for this onslaught. Kyle's strongest emotion was usually anger, and he could handle anger. He had been prepared for anger. This was something else entirely. Bitterness. Dread. Maybe even fear. "I'm not ready to be expected to act mature all the time. I'm not ready to stand up in front of my friends and family and say that I'm a man. I'm not a man. I'm a boy. Christ; I've barely just started puberty. I'm still a boy, damn it," he insisted, his voice growing whinier at each desperate plea for his youth.

Kenny remained uncertain how to respond. His friend's tortured expression captivated him to the point that he forgot to smoke, the cigarette burning dully between two loose fingers until it flickered out. "Everyone grows up, Kyle. It's life," he finally replied. He knew it was not the right answer, but he simply did not know how else to respond. There was no assuaging someone who was going through the equivalent of a youth identity crisis, and Kyle was anything but consoled.  
"Yeah, well, I feel no different than these stupid fucking weeds." Reaching down to the ground below, he pulled up a long, gangly sprout, root and all, right out of the soil. It dangled between his fingers for a moment as the two boys stared at it, one with a bemused expression and the other with disgust. "Look at it," he spat. "It grows as fast and as wild as it can and when it's done, no one wants it. It hurries to outgrow everything and then overtake everything it can before it gets plucked out of the earth, and then everything it's ever tried to do is hopeless. Pointless. What good are weeds in the world?" He threw the weed to the ground as hard as he could, and then he glared at the rest of them still peppering the grass where they lay. His lip quivered; his eyes narrowed in bitter anger. "And what good am I?"  
Kenny replied, "Don't make me take back what I said about you not being a sniveling pussy, Kyle."  
"I don't even care, anyway." Kyle used both hands to grab more chunks of weeds, ripping them violently out of the ground and then threw them as far as he could away from them. Even though the warm air was not against him, the flailing remnants of the little green plants did not fly very far. They seemed to defy gravity for a moment, dancing in midair before softly drifting to the ground, like feathers. "I don't care about this stupid tradition of becoming a man or reading from the Torah. I don't care about friends and family or 'the biggest day of my life.' I don't give a shit about any of it."  
"Now you really do sound like Stan."  
And that was it. The anger burned out like the butt of Kenny's cigarette, Kyle leaned back against the wall, defeated. Kenny flicked his shitty lighter a few times and relit his cigarette.  
They became reacquainted with their tranquil silence for a few long, hot minutes, listening absently to the cicadas chirping in the grass and the flies buzzing in the flowers. The sun beat relentlessly on their faces and the clouds above slowly drifted along like flotsam and jetsam in the sea, and the long, unconquerable weeds danced against the school to the tune of the heedless summer breeze. Two gangly teenage boys sat together; just a pair of weeds, growing side by side.

It was a long while before the silence that had become mutually accepted as normal between them was broken, and it was broken by Kyle. His words completely void of anger, he asked, "Can I try that?"  
Kenny seemed surprised, then indicated his cigarette. "This?" Kyle nodded resolutely. "You sure?"  
"Yeah. Just a little. I want to know what it's like."  
Skeptical, Kenny shrugged and offered it to him indifferently. "Suit yourself."  
Kyle took it, awkwardly holding it in between his thumb and forefingers as he brought it to his lips. The smell alone nearly made him sick, but that was nothing to the feeling of finally taking a drag on it. Hot, burning smoke filled his lungs and the smoke itched his throat. He promptly began coughing and wheezing it back out again, and returning the favor from before, Kenny beat the air back into him.  
"You're supposed to take it slowly at first," Kenny berated. He took his cigarette back, just in case Kyle accidentally dropped it. He would share his smokes, sure, but waste them? Not in a million years.  
"Christ, that's awful!" he gasped, still sputtering. He didn't see the appeal in it at all.  
"You get used to it."  
"Why would you want to?"  
"It's just something to do." Kenny took a slow drag on the cigarette, and then attempted to blow a smoke ring. Once again, he failed. "That's the difference between us and a bunch of weeds, Kyle," he finally said. It was only the second time in the entire day that his tone ceased to sound callous and disinterested in the subject; these words he spoke with some conviction, and as was extremely uncharacteristic for him, his eyes locked directly onto Kyle's. Suddenly, all at once, he knew exactly what to say. "Weeds can never stop running in a fruitless rat race towards destruction. They can't make choices. They can't decide what they want to do with their short lives on Earth. We can. Weeds can only grow and die; that is no choice. We can choose to live." The conviction left his voice, and the eye contact was dropped. The cigarette rose to meet his lips again. "My choice just happens to be sitting around and smoking," he finished with a little smirk.

Kyle silently let the words sink in. The sun beat down on his dirty face as he ran his fingers through his hair, curls stiff and damp with sweat. The warm breeze was thick with tobacco and pollen, and both of them tickled his nose. The smoke trailed heavenwards; Kenny's gaze was directed opposite. "...Let me try again," Kyle finally said to him.  
"Nope." Flippantly, Kenny flicked ash off the butt and brought an arm up behind his head to pillow it from the hard brick wall. He was not trying to be difficult; rather, a shred of morality was peeking through.  
"Come on, I won't drop it," Kyle pressed.  
"That's not the point. I'm not such a bad friend that I want to get you hooked on smoking. Besides, won't your mom kill you?"  
"Aren't you the one who told me to start standing up to her?" Kyle reasoned.  
"Are you telling me you're only doing this to feel rebellious?" Kenny countered.  
"You've got to start somewhere, right?"  
Reluctantly, Kenny conceded and passed him the cigarette again. This time he took it slowly, as Kenny had instructed, and when he finished he passed it back. His throat still tickled and his lungs still burned, but he resisted the urge to cough, and he released the hot smoke without coughing.  
"Feel any better about yourself?" asked Kenny as he raised the cigarette to his lips.  
"Not really," Kyle admitted.  
"Neither do I."

In the afternoon sun, they passed the cigarette back and forth until it burned itself out. The weeds remained forgotten.

* * *

"Well done, Kyle," said Principal Victoria after she had made a brief tour around the building. It had taken her minutes to inspect a job that had taken all day, but at least she was satisfied. Mr. Mackey was nowhere to be found; evidently he had more important things to do.  
"Can I go home now?" Kyle asked. Kenny had ditched shortly before Principal Victoria had shown up; some sort of internal alarm had alerted him to her pending arrival and he had made his escape with only a few minutes to spare, taking the trash with him.  
He was tired. He was hot. He was soaked to the bone with sweat. And yet, he was oddly content; almost in a state of complacency.  
It might have been having finally gotten a load off of his chest that he hadn't been able to during his long talks with the many authority figures in his life; it might have been the three or four cigarettes he and Kenny had shared over the remainder of the afternoon. Hell; it might have even just been the relief of having completed a long day's work. He wasn't asking questions; he just accepted it.  
"Of course," said Principal Victoria. Kyle peeled off his grubby gloves and offered them to her. "But I'll need you to come to my office for just a jiffy. I'll need to sign you out properly, since you're here for community service."  
Kyle sighed, but complied. It was only another minute or two out of his day, and he was in no particular hurry to see his mother anyway.

He followed her to her office, zombie like in his exhaustion. At Principal Victoria's request he had dressed again, though he felt stuffy and confined in his multiple layers, and he couldn't bear to wear his hat, as obscenely hot as he was. His hair remained a frizzy mass of curls, wilting with just about as much exhaustion as he felt himself.  
The halls were empty. No more than ten or fifteen minutes after the final bell, the school had instantaneously become deserted, and for this Kyle was grateful. He hadn't had the pleasure of looking himself in a mirror in a few hours, but he had no doubt that he was an eyesore.

He leaned against the wall outside the Principal's office, eyes closed as he listened halfheartedly to the polite, back-and-forth conversation between the faculty. Mouth agape, he could have nearly fallen asleep on the wall right there; the air conditioner was blowing directly on his face, and it was bliss.  
"Hey, dude."  
With great effort, he managed to open his eyes. He knew that voice.  
"Hey Stan," he responded listlessly. "What are you still doing here?"  
Stan was rather obviously looking him up and down, and he made no effort to hide his shock. "Christ, dude. What the hell did they do to you?"  
"I've been weeding," Kyle replied.  
"All day?" He nodded. "You look like sh-" Stan bit his tongue half-way through the final syllable, rethinking his word choice before Kyle even had time to scold him for it. "Like you've been burned and buried alive," he finished, opting for a more descriptive, if not morbid end.  
"Yeah, thanks." Kyle tiredly rubbed his eyes and then glanced at the Principal's door. He could hear laughter inside; they were apparently in no great hurry to release him. "What are you still doing here, again?"  
"Oh, I was waiting for Wendy. I was going to walk home with her. She's doing some student council bullshit or something."  
"That's nice dude." The ambiguous roller coaster relationship status of the infamous Stan and Wendy was currently a go, although, as one might argue, Stan was perhaps not as desperately in love with her as much as she was just a familiarity to him, and Wendy was maybe not so in love with Stan as she was concerned about his well being. But, again, it was easy to pitch theories about a relationship if you weren't an active member of it.  
"Yeah, I guess."

There was silence, and, Kyle realized wearily, it was not comfortable silence. Silence with Kenny had been tranquil, to be expected; silence with Stan was just obtrusive and loud. Kyle's gaze didn't leave the office door, although from the corner of his eye he knew Stan had not moved from directly in front of him.  
"How long do you have to wait?" Stan asked.  
"Not much longer, I hope," he mumbled, curtly jerking a thumb in the direction of the Principal's office. "That's their call."  
"Want me to wait for you?"  
"Aren't you already waiting for Wendy?" said Kyle with a trace of dry sarcasm. "You're walking her home, remember?"  
"I can tell Wendy to walk by herself today so I can walk with you instead."  
Kyle finally returned his gaze to his old friend, blinking unsurely. Stan seemed perfectly serious, and remarkably expressionless about this offer. "Why would you do that?"  
"I walk with Wendy every day," he explained. "She'd understand if I told her I just wanted to walk home with you for once. She's not as overbearing as she used to be. Is it so weird that I want to hang out with my friend?"  
For some reason, Kenny's words from very early that morning penetrated his mind. '_Aren't you two still friends?' _he had asked.  
Kyle had pulled weeds.

"Dude, don't blow off your girlfriend just to walk with me," he said. He said it with sincerity and without the usual acerbic sarcasm he had become accustomed to using when talking to Stan. "Girls are weird like that. You think they don't mind if you do something but in reality they hold a grudge for like, ever."  
Stan rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a little smile. "Tell me about it."  
"How about we get together this weekend?"  
"Like, for your birthday?"  
Oh, yeah. That thing that has been ruining his life for the past few weeks. "Yeah, sure." Earlier, he had promised to talk to Stan about the Bar Mitzvah; afterward he had thought he would not keep that promise. Maybe, he figured, there was no harm in it. "Go home with Wendy. I'll call you later tonight."  
For a moment, Stan had an odd look on his face; he even tilted his head to the side, just a quarter of an inch or so. "You haven't called to just talk to me in forever."  
"Neither have you," retorted Kyle .  
"Point taken."

Stan glanced at the wall clock hanging in the hall, and he shrugged his shoulders to settle the weight from his backpack. "Well, Wendy gets out in a few minutes. I guess I'll go meet her."  
"Yeah, go ahead."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes, I'm sure. Go see your girlfriend; I'll call you." Biting his lower lip for a second, he ended with, "I promise."  
Stan nodded and turned to leave, but on second thought he had one last thought to add. "Hey, I don't have anything going on tomorrow. I was going to-" here, he lowered his voice, warily eying to the Principal's office. "-I was going to ditch school and hang out with you. Do you think you'll be weeding outside again?"  
"Probably." Kyle assumed a tough poker face and frowned slightly. "I'm not telling you NOT to skip, Stan," he said very purposely. "That is wrong. You shouldn't not do that."  
Stan grinned. "Yeah, right. See ya tomorrow, dude."  
Kyle waved as he headed off to meet Wendy. It would be nice, he conceded, to talk with Stan again. It had been a long runaround to figure it out, but he realized how much he missed his friend.

Shortly afterward, he was released. He exited the barren school alone, feeling an unusually uplifting sense of freedom as he stepped from the corridors and back into the wrath of the May sunshine that had been his nemesis all day long. Hell; along the concrete pathway leading from the school, he could see the weeds that lined up in a row beside it, overgrown and overstaying their welcome, as usual.  
Kyle didn't care. Let the weeds grow; let them run rampant for as long as they could. He commended their tenacity. He admired their steadfastness.  
What good were weeds in the world, after all, if not to provide fodder for greener grass to grow when they left it?


End file.
